


Sucker Punch

by f-ing-ruthless-baz (f_ing_ruthless_baz)



Series: Mine Right Now [2]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Denial of Feelings, Family Issues, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23409415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f_ing_ruthless_baz/pseuds/f-ing-ruthless-baz
Summary: The kettle’s already hissing at me as I tear through the cupboards looking for some clean mugs. I manage to find a couple shoved back behind the Bodum teapot we never use, because neither of us could be arsed to clean it out if we did. They’re a bit small, and one has a chip in it, but they’ll do.They clink against the dark granite counter when I set them down, nearly disguising the sound of Dev’s footsteps as he pads over from my bedroom, in nothing but his shorts and my hoodie from this morning.“You know, maybe if you stopped drinking tea this late, you’d be less of an insomniac,” he says gruffly. He sometimes gets like this afterwards. Overly critical. Pissy. Like he’s worried I’ll think this is something that it’s not.I hold up the box of tea I pulled down earlier. “Decaf,” I say, and he scrunches up his face.Dev and Niall have been best friends and roommates since university, but as they approach their thirties, they know that something has to change. They can't live like this forever.
Relationships: Dev/Niall (Simon Snow), Niall & Agatha (Simon Snow)
Series: Mine Right Now [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683925
Comments: 148
Kudos: 163





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is not so much a sequel to **Mine Right Now** as it is a spinoff, because Dev and Niall are the main characters here, but it does take place in the same AU, several years after the first one. If you haven't read that one, I suggest you do, because this will probably make more sense then.
> 
> If you don't feel like reading it, or haven't read it in a while and forget, basically what you need to know is this is a soulmate AU, where people experience a "Spark" the first time they kiss their soulmate (although no one's really sure what that means, except you know it when it happens).
> 
> As always, many thanks to all the friends who who helped and encouraged me along the way, especially giishu and nunzibelle and the Circle of Tears, thehoneyedhufflepuff and warriorbeeofthesea! ❤️ And to everyone who let me know they were excited for some more DeNiall content, because there can never be enough.
> 
> Also, this fic is named after another Sigrid song, [Sucker Punch](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1uHt2LrCSWg), because reasons.
> 
> Edit: I meant to mention that I, obviously, stole Niall and Dev's full names from BasicBathsheba, as we all do. But credit where credit is due. (I swear I made a note to mention this at first, and then my brain collapsed on itself and I wrote these notes in a panic, sorry.)

**DEV**

He’s already out on the front steps when I come down from the flat, cradling his mug of coffee as though he thinks it’ll be enough to keep the chill off. He’s sitting there in his sweats, not even wearing shoes over his socks, and the dark red hoodie he’s got pulled up over his head makes his pale skin seem even more washed out when he looks up at me in this overcast November light.

“Morning,” he says, smiling at me in that way he always does, like he’s laughing at some joke I’m not in on.

“Alright, then?” I ask, leaning against the handrail. I don’t risk sitting on the filthy stoop in my suit. “What’ve you got planned for the day?”

He shrugs. “Dunno. Not working till this afternoon, so I’ll probably play some _Witcher_ for a bit,” he says, and then grins at me because he knows _The Witcher III_ is one of my favourite games and I’m hacked off that I can’t play.

“You still doing the _Blood & Wine_ expansion?”

“Yeah, but I think this time I’m gonna try not to let the Duchess die,” he says, and I snort.

“A noble goal, yes, but some of us have real, grown up jobs,” I say, straightening my tie.

“So you tell me.” He rolls his eyes and lowers his head to take a sip of his coffee.

I reach out with my foot and nudge his elbow with the toe of my shoe. “When’re you getting off, then?” I ask, and I can tell, even from this angle, that he’s suppressing a smile.

“I’ll be home by seven,” he says. “You?”

“Probably staying late to fix this report one of my guys fucked up last quarter, but I should be back by then…”

He winces and I can hear something crack when he stands—when did we get so _old_?—and leans against the opposite handrail, a step down from me, so we’re nearly eye level to each other. “Been sitting there too long,” he says with a chuckle and another sip.

An overgrown curl of hair has fallen out of his hoodie and onto his forehead, and I want to reach over and brush it aside. But I don’t. “Trouble sleeping, still?” I ask, and he shrugs again.

“It’s been worse,” he says, staring down into his mug. “I’ll live.”

“Should we switch mattresses?” I say, causing him to look up and frown at me. “Just, you’ve said you sleep better on my bed, so…”

His expression goes unreadable for a second, but then he chuckles again. “That’s—No, I’m fine. But thank you.”

“Right, well. I should… Yeah.” I nod towards the street and he nods back before climbing the steps past me.

“Should I grab us a takeaway tonight?” I add, once I reach the pavement at the bottom and turn back to him.

“Yeah, alright,” he says, pausing with his hand on the door. “Just not Nando’s. It’s vile and I don’t know why you like it.”

“Niall, you wound me,” I say, clamping my hand over my chest. “To think that I might _dare_ offend your delicate sensibilities with such—”

“Shove it,” he laughs, and disappears inside.

* * *

**NIALL**

The kettle’s already hissing at me as I tear through the cupboards looking for some clean mugs. I manage to find a couple shoved back behind the Bodum teapot we never use, because neither of us could be arsed to clean it out if we did. They’re a bit small, and one has a chip in it, but they’ll do.

They clink against the dark granite counter when I set them down, nearly disguising the sound of Dev’s footsteps as he pads over from my bedroom, in nothing but his shorts and my hoodie from this morning.

“You know, maybe if you stopped drinking tea this late, you’d be less of an insomniac,” he says gruffly. He sometimes gets like this afterwards. Overly critical. Pissy. Like he’s worried I’ll think this is something that it’s not.

I hold up the box of tea I pulled down earlier. “Decaf,” I say, and he scrunches up his face.

“What’s the point of that?”

“I can make you the real stuff, if you prefer—”

“It’s fine. It’s—I don’t care.” He settles into one of the stools across from me, holding his head up with both hands. I lean on the counter between us, though I have to hunch a bit.

“You seem pricklier than usual,” I tell him, and he scoffs.

“Prickly?”

“You know. Like a massive prick.” That actually makes him laugh. “I’m guessing work was a shit-show today?”

“To put it mildly,” he says, and then sighs, pressing two fingers between his eyebrows. “My father called me into his office, if you can believe it. The man’s not good for more than a couple perfunctory greetings over the holidays, but _this_ he wants to talk about.”

I grimace sympathetically. “Was it bad?”

He looks like he can’t decide which way to shake his head. “Word is Premal Bunce is stepping down at the end of the quarter, and they’re going to have to replace him.”

“Bunce? They only brought him in last year, didn’t they?”

“My father thinks the folks at Mage probably poached him,” Dev says.

“Ah.” I don’t fully understand the office politics with his father’s business, but I know they all hate Mage for stealing their best employees. I just think maybe they need to, you know, improve the work environment and compensation, if they want to keep people. But what the fuck do I know?

“He wants me to apply for the position,” Dev adds, and it takes me a second to realize he’s talking about his father again.

“Is that… Is that what you want?” I ask quietly. Every time Dev gets promoted he spends less and less time in our flat. We hardly get to just hang out anymore. Everything with us is just _stress_ or _stress relief_.

I didn’t realize this was what I was signing up for when I decided to keep living with my best friend after uni. I guess I sort of thought things would stay as they were, forever. I didn’t really think we’d have to _grow up_.

“I don’t know.” He huffs and runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know _what_ I want, but apparently this is what my father wants, and he’s disappointed that I’m not ‘taking my role seriously,’ as he put it.”

“What _role_? This isn’t a play, this is your life,” I say. “ _Yours_. Not his.”

The look Dev gives me could cut glass. “That’s easy for you to say, Kelly.”

I straighten up and take a step back. I’m ready to bite back at him when his expression crumples and he shakes his head.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t—I don’t mean that,” he says, and then tugs on his hair in frustration. “I’m just—I’m sick of it, y’know?”

“I know.” I relax my stance and walk around the bar to put my hands on his back. I press circles between his shoulder blades with my thumbs, under his hood—my hood—until he starts to loosen. “I know.”

“You don’t have to do that,” he says softly, though I can feel the tension melt from his shoulders

“I know.”

The tea can wait; it’s only decaf.

* * *

**DEV**

His office is surrounded by glass, which seems rather ironic, considering my father is about the least transparent person I’ve ever met. He has so many faces, and I think only I’ve seen the worst of them.

At least while we’re on display, he keeps a smile on his face. His persona. The ever-so-slightly eccentric tech CEO, with his glass office and round furniture and V-neck jumpers. An Information Age _everyman_. It’s pathetic, really.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I ask after his assistant buzzes me in. (Glass walls but high security locks. Fucking prick.)

“Devlin, wonderful to see you,” he says, the insincerity rolling off him in waves. “Have a seat.”

I walk over to his desk and sit in one of his pod-shaped visitor chairs. I have to adjust my suit to get comfortable; junior execs aren’t allowed to dress quite as casually as he is.

“How are things?” he asks. As if we ever actually _chat_.

I ignore him and plaster an equally fake smile on my face. “ _What_ can I help you with today, father?”

The edges of his eyes go icy for a second but his expression doesn’t shift. “I assume you remember what we discussed last week,” he says evenly.

“Oh, you know, I’m not sure, actually,” I say. “I guess I just don’t take my role _seriously_ enough to remember these things.”

His jaw tightens. “I only meant—”

“No, no, wait, I remember. You wanted me to throw everyone on my team under the bus and transfer departments so that I have better results to show the Board, was that it?”

“It was merely a suggestion,” he says, leaning back in his tall, arching chair as if this is the most relaxed conversation in the world, even though he’s practically pulling apart at the seams. It must be killing him to hear me speak to him this way. (I can hope.)

“Well, I don’t see why I should even go for Bunce’s job,” I say. I try to mimic my father’s body language, but this chair definitely isn’t made for leaning back. “Shouldn’t I just wait for Watford to leave? At least I’d stay in the same department—”

“Charles isn’t going anywhere,” my father snaps, his pleasant veneer running very thin.

“You’re right.” I nod my head with mock solemnity. “Then again, that’s probably what you thought about Premal, so…”

“Charles has loyalty. Something Bunce has lacked from the beginning. I fought against hiring from the outside, but—” He stops himself from going on a rant. “This is why I think you would be an ideal candidate for the position.”

“What, _loyalty_?” I ask, trying not to choke on my own disbelief. “What happened to me being a _disappointment_ , then?”

“No reason you can’t be both,” he says with a glint in his eye, like he thinks he just said something funny. But I know he’s not joking.

“Well, that’s a tempting offer…” I scoff as I rise to my feet. “Anyway, if that’s all, I’ll just—”

“Devlin,” he says more sternly, sitting forward. His persona disappears, for a split second, and I get a chill. “I think it’s about time you take a look at your life and really think about where you should be right now. I put up with this childish lack of responsibility when you started, because you were always something of a late bloomer, but it’s time to grow up. You’re thirty years old, for fuck’s sake.”

“Not for eight more months!” I say indignantly, as if that’s even the point.

“I was already Marketing Director at my father’s company by the time I was your age.” He points aggressively down at his desk, pushing his finger into the smooth, white surface. “I co-founded my first company when I was thirty-five! I didn’t—”

“I know, I know,” I say, rolling my eyes as I turn towards the door. “You didn’t mess around. You took your role seriously. Blah blah blah.”

My father’s chair scrapes across the floor as he stands, startling me into looking back at him. “You know that loyalty is important to me, and family loyalty doubly so,” he says, with a fierce intensity I haven’t seen on him much since he adopted his _cool boss_ schtick. “But disrespect me like this again, and I will have you permanently removed from the premises. Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I reply, though my voice comes out small and strangled. Like I’m eight years old again, thinking my father might _actually_ kill me for spilling Ribena on his sheepskin rug. (It wasn’t even real.) (The sheepskin. The Ribena was very real.)

He smiles again, eerily calm. “Wonderful.”

I book it out of there as fast as I can, hoping my bones will eventually thaw out after that ice bucket dropped on me. No one else seems to notice what happened. His Jekyll and Hyde moment. (I can’t remember which is which.)

I stop in the nearest bathroom to reset and keep myself from smashing my laptop as soon as I get back to my office. I only have to make it through another half hour. I was going to stay to help my team get caught up, but if I spend an extra minute here, I will set something on fire.

I wish Niall were here.

He’d know how to make this better.

* * *

**NIALL**

“Hey,” I say, startled, when Dev appears in the doorway to the living room, next to the TV. I didn’t hear him get home, with my headphones on. I take them off now, letting them hang around my neck. “There’s pizza in the kitchen. Got you the black olives and everything.”

“Niall.” He says my name like it’s a threat, as he strides over to me. Determined. “Get up.”

“Why? What’s—” The game controller falls to the couch when he grabs my elbow and hauls me to my feet. “Ow—That’s attached, you know!” I say, flapping my arm, but he doesn’t let go.

“I need you to shut all the way up, alright?” he growls as he drags me back through the living room, and I nearly trip over my feet in the process.

“This seems a bit aggressive for a booty call,” I say before he shoves me into my bedroom and I realize that’s exactly what this is. “Whoa, okay.”

It’s not usually like this.

I mean, I’ve gotten used to him turning to me for a bit of a _distraction_ when he’s under duress, but I’ve never seen him this worked up about something.

“I hate him,” he says when he pushes me up against the door to my closet.

“Er, who’re we talking about, here?” I ask as he starts untying the drawstring of my joggers.

“My father,” he says, and I bark out a laugh involuntarily.

“Sorry, but—Yeah, this isn’t going to work if we’re talking about your father. Just FYI.”

“I don’t want to talk about him,” Dev snaps. “I don’t want to think about him. I don’t want to think about anything, I just want—”

I gently lift his hands off me before he tears open my t-shirt, and I settle my arms around him, pulling him in until he slumps against me. “We don’t have to,” I say, pushing my face into his hair. “No more thinking for today. For the week even. Maybe the whole fucking year.”

His head bumps against my headphones when he lets out a weak laugh, so I take them right off and drop them into a basket of laundry next to me that I hope is clean. (I can’t remember.)

“C’mon,” I add, nudging him towards my bed so we can sit.

I get on it first and tuck myself into the corner, and he eyes me questioningly when I spread my legs wide. “Back rub,” I say. “Sit.”

He smiles reluctantly as he loosens his tie, and then opens his shirt enough to pull it over his head before sitting between my bent legs, with his back to me.

I smooth my hands over his shoulders before massaging the base of his neck, and he groans appreciatively, in about the least sexy way I’ve ever heard. I snort.

“Shut up,” he says over his shoulder, but I can tell he’s laughing too.

I do shut up, though. He doesn’t want to talk right now, so I won’t. This is fine. This is enough.

So I take my time with it.

We don’t do this often. This type of gentleness. In my bed. It’s sort of an unspoken rule about our… arrangement. It blurs the lines and makes things messy, when we can’t tell where the friendship ends and the _benefits_ begin. But I think he needs this. (I think I need this.)

Dev didn’t even want our _benefits_ to carry on after uni. _Experimentation_ , he called it. _Practice_. Though I suppose now he calls it _stress relief_.

Whatever he wants to call it, it’s still sex. It’s still intimacy.

Like this. Pushing the heels of my hands into his shoulder blades and then lightly scraping my fingernails over his back, silently, that’s intimate. He doesn’t want to admit it, but it is.

And when he leans back into me and runs his hands over my knees. When he reaches over his shoulder and takes one of my hands and brings it to his lips. When he kisses the centre of my palm, the inside of my wrist, the joint of my thumb. When he pushes back even further and nestles his head against me, while my heart feels like it’s about burst out of my chest.

It’s so intimate it hurts. _I’m not practicing_ , I think. _This is the real thing_.

He nudges my jaw with his forehead, his nose, his lips. “Niall,” he says, turning himself to face me as he buries into the side of my neck, leaving a tingling trail of soft kisses in his wake. “Stop thinking.”

“What?” I say when I finally remember to breathe. I’m breathing too hard, now.

“Stop. Just—” He nuzzles my cheek. He’s breathing hard, too.

I angle towards him, trying to catch him with my lips. His temple, his cheek, his eyebrow—anything. My arms close around him as he sits up on his knees in front of me, though he doesn’t pull back an inch. Forehead to forehead, he leans into me, as we frantically take whatever we can get.

I feel like we’re dancing. Dancing around what we actually want. Dancing to avoid taking that leap. The one that could change everything.

I’ve asked him before, if we should. Just so we’d know, one way or the other. He said it was better not knowing. He said it would complicate things. He’s probably right.

But sometimes I think…

I think maybe he could be it. Maybe we could be soulmates.

It’d be perfect really. I love him. And I think he could love me, too. If he tried. If he knew it was meant to be.

I think we could—

“Niall,” he breathes, pulling back enough to look me in the eye.

I blink at him.

“Stop thinking,” he adds, and then presses in so close our noses get smushed together, his lips a hair away from mine. The air between us is hot with our breath, and I might die if he doesn’t just _kiss me_.

_What’s he waiting for?_

And then I get it.

And I nod.

And he kisses me.

And…

And I feel like the wind’s just been knocked out of me. Dev draws his head back slowly and I blink at him again. He blinks back.

That was it, then.

Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That awkward moment.......


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _There was no Spark. Of course there wasn’t. We’re friends. And just because he knows me extremely well, doesn’t mean we’re… that. We’re not soulmates. We never could be soulmates. I’m not even—_

**DEV**

I know Niall didn’t sleep well last night. I could hear him puttering around into the early morning. Only because I also had trouble sleeping.

It’s hard to get a restful night’s sleep when you’re a huge fucking idiot.

_What the hell was I thinking?_

Well, I mean, that’s the thing. I wasn’t thinking. Clearly. Otherwise I would have known better.

There was no Spark. Of course there wasn’t. We’re friends. And just because he knows me _extremely_ well, doesn’t mean we’re… that. We’re not soulmates. We never could be soulmates. I’m not even—

Whatever. It’s fine. It’s good. Now we know. Now we can stop tiptoeing around it.

It doesn’t have to complicate things unless we make it.

Niall is passed out in the living room when I get up, so I forego breakfast to let him sleep. No sense waking him by clanging around in the kitchen. I can grab something on my way in this morning.

I think about walking over to him, though. About squishing in to sit by his legs, and reaching over to push his hair off his forehead, and—

It doesn’t matter. Things may have gotten blurry last night, but they’re clear now. We’re friends. We’re not soulmates. I’m not even…

“Dev?” he croaks, and I realize he’s squinting at me with one eye open. “Ngh—Time’s it?”

“Seven,” I tell him, leaning against the door frame, as though I haven’t just been caught standing here, watching him, like a total creep. “Go back to sleep.”

He starts to lift his head, but then lets it drop into the cushion again. “Mmf.”

Sometimes he still looks just like the kid I met at uni, the one who always hunched to avoid looking so tall, to avoid taking up space. Who curled up into a little ball when he slept, like he was trying to disappear. Who would turn red every time he laughed out loud at a dirty joke.

He’s not that kid, though. Not really. The world doesn’t scare him anymore, I don’t think. It just tires him.

He deserves more than this, honestly.

* * *

**NIALL**

My head is buzzing.

No, wait. That’s my phone.

I reach out to grab it from my nightstand, only to find there’s nothing there—not even a nightstand. My arm falls to the floor, and it throws off my balance enough that I nearly go tumbling after it.

I blink my eyes open to the sight of my living room, and groan. I hate falling asleep on the sofa. It’s too short for my legs, so I have to crunch up, and my back hurts for a week. I don’t remember falling asleep here, but then again, I don’t remember falling asleep at all.

I push myself into an upright position and squint around the room for my phone. It’s stopped buzzing, at least.

There’s a pit of dread in my stomach, like after waking from a terrible dream that I can’t quite recall. But I don’t think it’s from a dream this time.

My mouth feels dry, like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it tastes like I just ate compost. I must have forgotten to brush my teeth before I conked out. I was preoccupied, I guess.

I scrub my hand over my face, dragging it over my lips, trying to wipe something away. Not that there’s anything there.

_Nothing_.

There’s no residual hum of magic or electricity or whatever it is. Because nothing happened.

But what did I expect, really? That one day Dev was going to turn around and realize he was madly in love with me, and we’d have the greatest Spark in the history of humankind? Even I’m not that sappy.

My phone starts buzzing again, and I follow the sound down between the seat cushions to retrieve it. I frown at it; the assistant manager at my store is calling.

“‘Lo?” I say, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Are you dead?” she says. She sounds pissed off. “Please tell me you’re dead.”

“What?”

“Well, if you’re not dead, Rob is gonna kill you. You’re late.”

I push the heel of my hand into my forehead as my headache flares. “I’m not on till eleven,” I say, though I realize I’m not one hundred percent sure what day it is.

“It’s already after one, smart-ass.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Just get here. _Now_.”

“Right, yeah, I’m—I’ll be there.” I hang up before she can give me more shit about it and drop my phone next to me.

I can’t believe I slept that long, and as much as I want to just collapse back down and sleep for the next century, I drag myself up and into the shower.

If I’m quick, I can be there in half an hour, and I’ll only have missed, like, a third of my shift. That’s not so bad. Rob won’t fire me for that, people have gotten away with worse. He _might_ kill me, though.

At least then I wouldn’t have to think about it…

Dev’s not my soulmate.

So what’s the point of anything?

* * *

**DEV**

It’s not that I’ve been avoiding him.

I haven’t seen him for more than five minutes this week, but that’s not my fault. Work’s been hell. With my increasingly long days and his irregular shifts, of course we hardly have a moment to catch up. But things will settle and we’ll get back to normal and it won’t all feel this… heavy. Leaden. On the verge of collapse.

I haven’t been avoiding him.

But he freezes in the doorway of the living room when he sees me sitting here, like he wasn’t expecting me. Which is fair; I haven’t been home this early in over a week.

He wasn’t at work, I can tell. He’s in his oversized hoodie and rumpled joggers, cheeks flushed from the cold, and a Tesco bag clenched in his fist. I don’t even think he’s showered today.

“Hey,” I say as I pause from scrolling Twitter to look up at him. I only got in a minute ago, and already I’m sprawled out on the sofa with my tie loosened, staring at my phone while my eyes glaze over.

He seems startled by my acknowledgement. “Hey,” he echoes, blinking a couple times before scurrying through to the kitchen.

“You alright?” I ask, sitting up and peering over the back of the sofa. I can see most of the kitchen from here, and I watch him fuss with the dials on the oven.

“’M fine,” he says as he sticks a ready meal in. Some sort of curry.

“Did you sleep okay?” I sit up further and move to one side to make room. He gives me a pointed look that answers my question, and I nod for him to come sit.

He shuffles over, wearily, and collapses next to me, leaning back into the cushion behind him with his eyes closed. “Fuck,” is all he says, and it’s enough.

I reach over and brush his thick hair back before dragging my fingers through it, digging circles into his scalp along the way. I’m not sure I’m allowed to do this now. I’m not sure I ever was. But he looks like he could use it.

“Fuck,” he says again, only this time it comes out as a sigh.

Neither of us says another word as I continue, alternating hard and soft pressure as his breathing slows. I almost think he’s falling asleep, but then he opens one eye to look at me.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he says, like I must have some ulterior motive.

“I know,” I say, so quietly I almost can’t even hear myself.

He lazily rolls his head towards me, both eyes open now, and I twist the ends of his hair between my fingers. “How was your day, then?”

“Pretty good,” I tell him, but he raises his eyebrows like he knows I’m full of shit. (He really does know me too well.) “I mean, it’s fine. I just—I should really be in a calendar or something.”

“In a—What?” he says with a confused chuckle.

I give him half a smile. “Because I’m putting out so many fires all day.”

“Wha—Oh, _Dev_. That was… That was a lame one, even for you.” He throws his head back and clamps his hand over his eyes, like he can just shut out my terrible joke, even though he’s still laughing. “I hate you so much.”

I snort, and nudge the side of his leg with my knee. “Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.” He looks out from behind his hand and jabs me with his elbow, so I shove him back with my shoulder and he grins. “You’re the worst.”

“The absolute fucking worst,” I say, grinning back, and he turns and pins me against the sofa. He smirks devilishly as he leans against me to hold me down, and I swallow.

If this were before, I’d probably put up a bit more of a fight, a bit of a show, until we’re disheveled and sweaty and desperate for gratification. But that would be selfish of me.

His expression falls a little, when I don’t fight back. Softens around the edges. “At least you’re here,” he says, more seriously, lowering his voice.

I know what he’s not saying. He thinks I’ve been avoiding him. I haven’t been avoiding him.

He leans in closer, angling his head, as I stare at his mouth, pushing my jaw forward to meet him part way.

…I may have been avoiding him.

I may have been avoiding this. The pull. The stupid fucking need to put my face on his face whenever he’s within spitting distance. (Maybe I should spit on him instead.) (No, that’s weird.)

But I’m here now—he’s here now, mere inches away—and we’ve already faced the music, so what could—

The oven timer beeps loudly, and Niall jerks his head back, like we’ve just been caught red-handed.

“Right. I’ve got—Right.” He gets up to fetch his dinner—it might technically be his breakfast—and I’m left to sit in the dizzying remains of what would have been a very bad decision.

If we want any chance of finding our soulmates, we can’t do that. Not anymore. I can’t hold onto him, or I’ll never let him go. I’ll keep him to myself. I’ll keep him from his _fate_ , or whatever.

Fuck, I’ll keep him from his _happiness_.

“Niall,” I call over my shoulder without turning to face him. I hear him hiss and curse under his breath, like he just touched the hot tray with his hand.

“Yeah?”

“I think we need to grow up,” I say, looking back to find him frozen in place, licking sauce off his thumb, like I just dropped a bomb. “I think we need to find our soulmates.”

* * *

**NIALL**

I really didn’t want to do this. It was all Dev’s idea.

He’s the one who suggested we sign up for dating apps to try and meet people. (Most of the apps out there seem shady as hell, but _Light A Match_ is considered one of the more reputable ones.) (As reputable as a digital matchmaker can be, I suppose.)

I’m still skeptical. Of course I am. I only agreed to go on this date to appease Dev; there’s no way I’ll find my soulmate by answering a couple dozen questions about my _personality_. I don’t even know if I have a personality. It’s bullshit.

And my date is twitchy.

Well, maybe not _twitchy_ , but obviously incredibly nervous. He keeps touching his glasses, like he’s worried they’ve disappeared in the last thirty seconds. And he laughs at everything I say. I’m not that funny.

“So…” I say, absently tracing my thumb over the logo on my cup of coffee. “ _Geralt_ —”

“Um, it’s Gareth,” he says timidly. Of course his name is Gareth. But he called me _Neal_ when we met.

“Right, sorry. Gareth,” I reply with a tight smile. I know I shouldn’t be this much of a dick. It’s not his fault I’m here. “Have you got… hobbies, or something?”

I don’t know how to do this. Talk to new people. And as far as I can tell, the only thing we have in common, based on our LAM profiles, is that we both come from big families and we both like black coffee. And it looks like he lied about that.

“Er, well, I’m pretty into, um, geocaching,” Gareth says, wiping whipped cream off his mouth, and I fight back a grimace. “And just, like, maps in general.”

“Maps,” I say. It’s not a question. But also, _what the fuck?_ How are _maps_ a hobby?

He laughs nervously. “I mean, I know it sounds kinda lame—”

“No, not at all,” I lie, and his smile broadens. Fuck.

This can’t be it. Gareth _cannot_ be my soulmate. I can’t spend the rest of my life pretending to find _maps_ interesting.

“There’s—There’s this thing I like to do,” he says, leaning forward like he’s telling me something scandalous and exciting. Which I doubt. “I like to map out trips based on distance. Like, I’ll pick a cool number and find a route to walk—or drive or take the tube or whatever—that fits, and then I’ll go do that. There’s a set of walking trails back near my parents’ house, and I found a path that’s exactly 3.14 kilometres. It’s pretty sweet.”

I think I blacked out after _cool number_ , so I just nod.

“There are lots of routes I’ve done around here, too, though,” he adds, as if I was worried about that. “We could—I mean, maybe some time we could go check one out. Like. Together, yeah?”

I smile politely and hope he doesn’t take that as a marriage proposal.

I let him carry on, though, telling me about the exact distances of different journeys on the Underground, and what percentage of the London Outer Orbital Path he’s walked, and I get two refills on my coffee before we leave.

“Oh, so, I looked it up before coming here,” he says as we walk out of the café. It’s already starting to get dark out. “And it turns out that this place is exactly 0.61 kilometres from my flat.”

We stop outside the front windows and I shove my hands in my pockets. “Does that number mean something?”

He shrugs. “I dunno. It’s just. Not that far, is all.”

I have no idea how far that is. But I think a kilometre is less than a mile, so it can’t be that bad…

“Show me,” I say, and his eyes go wide. Like he didn’t think his pathetic attempt at getting me to come back to his flat would work.

But I’d rather get this over with. I’ll kiss him and then I’ll go.

Gareth is not my soulmate. But I need to be sure.

* * *

**DEV**

He’s later than I expected.

“Date go well, then?” I ask when Niall finally walks in, his windswept hair going in every direction, like a mad scientist. He made it back just in time; looks like a storm’s about to hit.

He shrugs off his jacket and leaves it on the floor as he trudges over to flop onto the sofa next to me. “It went wonderfully, thank you.”

I know he’s being sarcastic, but there’s a sharp twist in my gut at the thought of him having a wonderful time on his date. Like I want him to be miserable forever. (I’m horrible.)

“The guy was… fine. He was nice,” he says, running his hands through his hair. It does nothing to smooth it out. “Very enthusiastic about maps.”

I nearly choke on my laughter. “What?”

He side-eyes me, but I can tell he thinks it’s funny, too. “He’s into _geocaching_.”

“Is that still a thing?”

“I guess.” Niall sighs heavily. “He wanted me to go on walks with him. _Walks_.”

“I mean, that’s—”

“ _Walks_ , Dev. I can’t think of a more boring use of my time, except maybe _mapping out walks_.”

“I suppose that means you’re not seeing him again?” I ask, though I try not to sound too hopeful.

He shakes his head and sinks further into the back cushion. “No Spark. Thank fuck.”

“Wait, you kissed him?” I say, and he frowns at me.

“How else would I know?”

“I dunno, I just thought…” I’m not sure what I thought. That it would take him eleven years to kiss someone, just because it took us that long?

“I kissed him, there was no Spark—big fucking surprise—and then I left.”

“Right. Well. Good.”

“Good?” He turns his head towards me.

“I mean, you don’t want to be soulmates with a _geocacher_ , do you?”

“I didn’t even want to go out with him in the first place,” he says, raising his voice and straightening his back.

The sudden shift in mood crackles through the air like static and we both fall silent, uncertain where to go from here. I nudge him gently with my elbow and rest the back of my hand on his, tentatively, like I’m bracing for a shock. But there’s nothing.

“Sorry,” I mutter, brushing my knuckles over him.

He turns his hand over and squeezes mine, so I lean into his shoulder and rest my head against him. I don’t know what this is. This isn’t us.

But it’s nice.

“Dev,” he says. He gives my hand another squeeze and then moves it away. “I think maybe we should have, like, boundaries.”

I jerk back like I’ve just been slapped.

“Boundaries,” I echo. I think I’m on autopilot now.

“I just think—If we’re supposed to _grow up_ ,” he says, almost bitterly, “then maybe we shouldn’t, like, fool around. Right?”

I stare at him a second and nod. “Right.”

I don’t tell him that’s not what I was doing. That I just wanted to be close to him. Because apparently that’s all it can ever be. _Fooling around_.

I guess that’s really all it ever was. I know this. And now it’s time to grow up.

My mobile’s in my hand as soon as he gets up to put the kettle on, and I go to the app store. I didn’t download it before, when I said I was going to. _Light A Match_. I just wanted Niall to find his person.

But if I’m really going to let him go, maybe I need to find my person, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting! I really appreciate it, especially since I'm posting a non-Snowbaz fic. It's nice to know there are people enjoying it. ❤️

**NIALL**

“You will each have three minutes to get to know the person sitting across from you. When those three minutes are up, you will hear this sound,”—the event facilitator prattling on at the front of the room presses something on her mobile, and it makes a loud _ding_ —“and everyone on this side of the room will move one seat to the left. Are there any questions?”

The young woman across from me eagerly raises her hand. “Why three minutes?” she asks when she gets called on.

“It’s been scientifically proven that people will feel a connection with their soulmate within three minutes of meeting them,” the facilitator says, clasping her hands together to demonstrate. She’s far too passionate about this. “This will give each couple enough time to decide if they’d like to meet again, and you’ll be able to exchange your information at the end.”

This is such bullshit. Speed-dating. You can’t know anything about someone in three minutes, and certainly not whether you have the potential to be soulmates. It’s a manipulative cash-grab and nothing more. (Seriously, _ten quid_ to sit in a community centre and try to chat up heterosexuals?) (Dev promised this was a _gender-blind_ event—“for open-minded individuals”—but there only seem to be three other men here, and one of them’s already giving me the stink-eye.)

“Remember, keep an open mind and an open heart,” she continues, the stacks of bracelets on her wrists clinking together as she gestures widely. I think I might be sick. “For that is the way to truly open the soul to connection.”

Dev stifles a laugh next to me, and I suppress a smile. At least he’s not taking this all that seriously, either.

I don’t really know why he suggested it. This is a pathetic last-ditch effort for desperate people, and I’m not that desperate. I still have a handful of _Light A Match_ match-ups I could try, including one twattish-looking guy whose profile says he’s _“up for anything.”_ (I mean, I’m definitely not _that desperate_ yet, but the option’s there if it comes down to it.)

The woman across the table has now turned to face me, and I realize I must have zoned out. I guess we’re starting, then.

“I’m Chloe,” she says with a smile. We have name tags on.

I nod. “Niall.”

“Nice to meet you, Niall.” She’s far too enthusiastic about this whole thing, like she thinks she’s going to get participation marks for smiling more.

“So, what do you… do?” I ask, even though I don’t care. That’s kind of mean, fine, but I don’t.

I let my mind wander a bit while she talks about herself, and I give one-word answers when she asks me something. She keeps repeating my name, too, like one of those telemarketers.

My eyes drift to a sign past her head, on the far wall. A large kraft poster with the words _Second Chance Dance_ painted across it in large purple letters. I have to squint to make out the smaller text below, but it appears to be an event for widows and widowers to meet people. A “second chance” at love, I guess.

I didn’t really know that was a thing, but it makes sense. You should still get to be happy even if you’ve lost your soulmate. Or if you’ve never even found them…

I snap my attention back to Chloe when I hear the _ding_ , but she doesn’t look too pleased that I was ignoring her. (I don’t blame her; I’m a dick.)

I lean towards Dev a little and bump him with my elbow. “How long do we have to stay here?” I ask quietly.

“You’ve only met one person,” he says.

“Look around, I’m not going to find my soulmate _here_ ,” I hiss back, though I think I may have said that too loud, because the woman who’s now sitting across from me looks thoroughly unimpressed.

It’s going to be a long evening.

* * *

**DEV**

“Did you hear the news about your cousin?”

Mum’s looking at me across the dinner table like she has the most delightful family _goss_ to share, and I think it would kill her not to tell me.

“What’d Baz do this time?” I ask, stabbing at my sprouts with my fork as though they’ve personally offended me. Which, I suppose, they have, by being sprouts.

“Not Basil, _Marcus_ —”

“Sounds like Basilton’s getting offers,” my father cuts in. “I hear they’re trying to lure him over to Mage, so I was thinking maybe we should scoop him up before they get the chance. I think he could do well in Bunce’s position—”

“I thought you wanted me to go for that job,” I say, with a forkful of roast halfway to my mouth. “For weeks you’ve been pestering me—”

“And you’ve made it perfectly clear you’ve no interest in it,” he says. “I can’t just pass on a good opportunity because it might hurt your _feelings_.”

“Good opportunity? To what? Steal from under Mage’s nose?”

“Isn’t that what they’re doing to us?” he snaps. “Honestly. David has no moral backbone, taking all our best people. I’m not going to just stand here and—”

“ _Archie_ ,” my mother says, her tone even but stern. “It’s Christmas. Let’s discuss these matters at another time.”

It’s only the 23rd, but I don’t think pointing that out would end in my favour.

“So.” I cough uncomfortably. “What’s the news about Marcus?”

Mum’s expression shifts back to delight. “He _Sparked_ ,” she says. “Can you believe it? They met last month. I hear she’s very nice, too. Spirited. They’re already planning the Day.”

The Day. The wedding day. Ridiculous. I mean, sure, they’re soulmates, but how can you plan to marry someone you hardly know? I’d need to know someone at least—

Well, eleven years might be excessive, but still. At least a few.

“It won’t be one of those _hippie_ weddings, will it?” my father asks with distaste.

“I think you mean _hipster_.”

“Diana will make sure it’s extremely tasteful, you know that,” my mother says. “She’s very traditional that way.”

“ _Very_ traditional,” I grumble at my plate. (Their side of the family stopped speaking to uncle Malcolm when Baz came out.) (At least until my aunt realized it didn’t have _any impact on her life whatsoever_.)

“I think it’s a lovely story,” mum continues, happily moving around the potatoes on her plate. “That it’s never too late to find one’s soulmate.”

“He’s younger than I am,” I scoff, and then her words sink in. “I’m _looking_ , okay? I’ve been using apps and—”

“ _Apps?_ ” My father sounds appalled, even though his company is a fucking web platform.

“I’m trying to meet people.”

“To meet people,” he says, “you have to go out into the real world. You’re not going to find your soulmate through your mobile while you watch cartoons with your _flatmate_ —”

“I’ve been going out, alright? And Niall’s been on even more dates than I have,” I say defensively, though I’m pretty sure I sound horribly jealous.

Mum’s giving me a sympathetic smile and I chug water from my glass to avoid looking at her.

“Only floozies use those apps,” my father adds, and I nearly do a spit-take.

“Are you calling Niall a _floozy_?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.

“I meant the women—”

“ _Archie_ —”

“Well, I don’t think our son should be scraping the bottom of the barrel to find someone,” he says to her, and then turns back to me. “You need to socialize properly. Charm the young ladies at the club, perhaps.” (For some reason, _young ladies_ sounds as bad as _floozies_ when he says it.)

“Oh!” my mother gasps, and sets her fork down excitedly. “Philippa Stainton!”

I frown at her. “Who?”

“You remember,” she says. “You went to school with her. Lovely girl. Anyway, word is she’s still single, so I thought maybe… You two have so much in common already, there’s a good chance, you know.”

“Was she the girl who had mono?” I ask, but mum just wrinkles her nose and waves it off.

“She’s been travelling, I think,” she says. “But she’s recently moved back to London. I could call her mother and set up a date!”

“Mum, _no_ —”

“At least let me get you her number,” she says, like I’ve wounded her by declining her offer to set me up on a _playdate_ , for fuck’s sake.

“I’ll think about it,” I say, scowling at my sprouts. I stab one so hard, it slips off the plate and flies up the table, landing next to my father’s wine glass. He just sighs.

We eat in uncomfortable silence for the rest of the meal. Which is what I’m used to. I’ve had more conversation with my father in the past six weeks than I have in the past six years. I don’t really care for it.

Three more days. Three more days, and I can go home.

Three more days, and I can see him.

* * *

**NIALL**

“Isn’t she your boss now?” Dev asks as we step out of the lift.

“Not really,” I say, checking the numbers on each door as we pass. I can’t remember where number 37 is, but it shouldn’t be far. “She just sort of takes care of things when Rob’s not there. But she’s still mostly on the front lines with me.”

“Yeah, but I just wonder if it’s weird now,” he says. “Going to your _boss’s_ New Year’s Eve party.”

“Keris isn’t my _boss_ , Dev. She just has to tell my boss when I fuck up.”

“Still, that’s gotta be some sort of conflict of interest.”

We stop in front of number 37. “But it’s in _my_ interest, so it’s fine,” I say as I knock.

Keris answers the door and grins at me. “Good news, everyone,” she hollers over her shoulder, at no one in particular. “The huge fucking stick in the mud we ordered has arrived.”

“Happy holidays to you, too,” I say with a sarcastic smile.

“Get in here, then,” she says, slapping me on the shoulder. “Alright, Dev?”

Dev nods, his hands shoved in his pockets, and follows me inside, where Keris’s wife comes to greet us. They’re a bit of a stark contrast from each other—Keris in her blazer thrown over a t-shirt, and Trisha going for a full-blown rockabilly pinup vibe—but they work together.

“You,” Trisha says, getting right up in my face and staring up at me, “are obscenely tall.” (She tells me this almost every time we meet.)

Keris reins her back in. “And you, my dear, are obscenely drunk,” she says, which makes Trisha laugh.

Like I said, they work together.

Dev and I find some drinks and station ourselves in one spot for the evening, making everyone else come to us if they really must say hello. It’s our go-to strategy for parties.

Dev’s cousin finds us at one point—he’s friends with Trisha, I think—though it looks like it’s his partner, Simon, who drags him over. Baz is like Dev, in that way. The Grimm cousins have to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into social situations.

“We didn’t see you at Christmas,” Dev says to them, markedly more sociable now that he’s had a couple drinks.

“We were with the Bunces this year,” Simon explains, and Dev laughs out loud. Bitterly. “Wait, why’s that funny?”

“Oh, no, just that—” Dev reaches out and smacks Baz on the arm. “My father’s trying to get you to take Premal’s old job,” he says, like it’s the funniest thing ever.

Baz grimaces. “What? Why?”

“He’s afraid you’ll end up going to Mage, too. He thinks getting you would be a _‘good opportunity’_ ”—Dev nearly spills his drink doing air quotes—“even though I think he’s just trying to save face. Imagine how it’d look to have his own nephew at _Mage_.”

“I wouldn’t,” Baz scoffs, and takes a sip of his drink. “Mage is a worthless pile of shit. It doesn’t even work half the time.”

“My father will be glad to hear that.”

“Grimble’s no better,” he adds. “It wasn’t built for that level of growth and it’s going to collapse.”

“Pfft. Maybe you should work for my father, then. Set ‘em straight,” Dev says, shaking his head.

“Ugh, can we not talk about _work_ , please?” Simon groans, practically straining his neck when he rolls his eyes back.

“Hear, hear,” I say, raising my plastic cup to him.

The conversation veers towards family drama—apparently one of their cousins is getting married, and his family is trying to get his bride-to-be on a crash diet before the wedding, which is fucking horrible—and tapers off into a heated argument about football between Simon and Baz who, as far as I can tell, agree with each other.

I don’t mind, though. It’s nice just sitting here, pleasantly buzzed, with Dev slouched against my shoulder, warming me up from the inside and out. It’s kind of fun, even. The excitement in the flat when the countdown starts, everyone gearing up to kiss their soulmate at midnight. I suppose that could be me, one day. I don’t know.

Simon’s practically got Baz in a headlock as he chants numbers along with everyone else, and Baz is trying and failing not to laugh. It’s cute. Disgusting, but cute.

I look away when the clock strikes midnight, and find Dev staring at me with a lazy, lopsided grin.

“Happy new year,” he says, throwing an arm around my neck and pulling me in for a kiss. And I let him. (He’s warm. It’s nice.)

I let it go on a bit too long, though. I can tell because Baz and Simon are staring at us like we just grew three heads apiece.

Simon’s the first to break the deafening silence in our little pocket of the room. “Are you two _soulmates_?” he asks, his eyes wide. Judging by the grin spreading on his face and the scowl working its way across Baz’s, I’m guessing Simon thinks he’s won some sort of bet.

“No, we’re not,” I say, sitting up straighter. “Dev’s just had a few too many.”

I look over at him as he sinks back into his seat. He’s not going to correct me. Because I’m right.

* * *

**DEV**

It’s been more than three minutes.

It feels like _infinity_ , but when I check the clock on my phone, it’s only been twenty-five. Still. More than long enough to know that Philippa Stainton is most likely _not_ my soulmate.

“Am I boring you?” she says, and I realize she’s just caught me scrolling on my phone after checking the time.

“No, no,” I say quickly, setting it face down on the table between us. “New Zealand sounds fascinating.”

She doesn’t look convinced. Which is fair enough; I’m a shit liar.

“If you want to leave, you can just say so,” she says. “It’s not like I’m dying to be here, either.”

I’m surprised by her candour. “Why are you, then?”

“To appease my mother.” She smiles sarcastically. “She thinks I need to _settle down_. Find my soulmate, start a family.”

I nod in commiseration. “Yeah, mine too.”

“Doesn’t matter that I don’t _want_ any of that,” she adds before taking a sip of her drink.

“You don’t want a soulmate?” I ask. I can understand the not wanting a family part, at least.

She shrugs. “I like my freedom. I like being able to travel when I want to. I like not having to argue about what movie to watch.”

I don’t point out that arguing over what to watch on Netflix for an hour is half the fun.

We finish our drinks shortly, though the uneasiness in the air lifted significantly once we both admitted that we weren’t interested. I leave feeling more relief than disappointment, even though it marks my ninth unsuccessful date since I started this whole soulmate search. I didn’t even have to kiss most of them to know we weren’t a match.

Niall’s already home by the time I get back, making himself a cup of tea—he pulls down another mug when he sees me.He must have just gotten in shortly before me, he’s still dressed from his date.

“How’s it?” he asks, when I sit across the counter from him.

“I feel like this whole dating malarkey is a huge waste of time,” I say, inspecting my mug to see if he gave me decaf. The teabags look the same though, so I can’t tell.

“Okay, grandpa,” he says. He pulls the mug away from me so he can pour water in.

“I mean it, Niall,” I grumble, holding up my head with both hands as I droop forward. “These women are all starting to blur into one person—for all I know I went out with the same blonde three times.”

He raises his eyebrows at the mugs between us, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure if he should.

“What?” I say, defeated. “Just say it.”

“I was just thinking,” he says, setting the kettle back on its base, “maybe you’re not looking for the right people.”

“You sound like my parents.”

“No, I mean—I mean maybe you aren’t opening your search… wide enough.”

“Is that some kind of dirty euphemism—”

“I’m saying maybe you should try dating men as well,” he says sharply. I sit back in surprise.

“But…” I blink at him and frown. “But I’m not—”

“You’re not gay, I know! I get it!” he snaps. “But you’re not straight either, mate.”

He deflates quickly after his outburst and mumbles an apology, but the fact remains that he said it. It’s out there. He said the words I was thinking. Or the words I wasn’t thinking. The words I wouldn’t let myself think. But my soulmate can’t be a man…

Niall’s not my soulmate.

So my soulmate’s not a man.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is set in a non COVID-19 AU. Stay at home if you can, kids.

**DEV**

“Names?”

“Devlin Grimm and Niall Kelly,” I say, and Niall elbows me in the arm. Hard.

“You used our real names?” he hisses at me, but I just shrug him off as the doorman checks off our names on his iPad and lets us in. It’s not like I could have used a fake, since I had to ask a coworker to get us on the list in the first place.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but when we step into the club, I’m certain it wasn’t this. It’s pretty dark, and my eyes take a moment to adjust from the harsh light outside the door. Everything is swathed in a reddish light, making it seem monochrome, like watching a movie through a Quality Street wrapper. The brightest area is by the bar, fading out towards the darker recesses around the edge of the room, dotted with soft red lanterns. The music is loud, too. Thumping. I can feel it inside my ribcage. And there are people everywhere, dancing and drinking and cozying up to each other on curved love seats.

Apparently these people are not shy about PDA.

“Ugh,” Niall says as he takes it all in as well. “This is just an STI waiting to happen.”

Maybe this was a bad idea.

I know couples who’ve met at these kinds of parties, and they’ve said it’s a good way to meet people and “take ‘em for a test drive,” so to speak. Like speed dating, but cutting right to the chase. Just get drunk and kiss someone. Anyone. Everyone.

And it seems to be what most people are doing. In the love seats, against the walls, in the middle of the dance floor. They really give zero fucks here.

“C’mon,” I say as I grab his elbow and drag him towards the bar, determined to at least give this a shot. Or have a shot. I’ll start with that.

**NIALL**

Dev orders two shots of something and hands me one, and I drink it without question. It’s a start.

I still can’t believe he thought this was a good idea. Dev hates being close to strangers, and yet he suggests we go to a _soulmate party_? And this is nothing like the ones back at school. Those were just nervous teenagers playing Spin the Bottle, but this… This is disgusting.

Dev’s already ordering us another round by the time I set my glass down, but I clamp my hand down on his shoulder and lean in so he can hear me over this dreadful music.

“I think we should split up,” I say, and he frowns at me.

“What?”

“If we stand here together the whole night, we’re never going to meet anyone.” Not that I expect to find anyone here, myself. I imagine my soulmate wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this.

But if we don’t do this, then Dev will cling to my side and not talk to anyone, and by the end of the night we’ll be so hammered that we end up in one of those love seats together, and that wouldn’t solve anything. Tempting as it is.

He glares at me a moment, then downs his second shot in one fluid motion and stalks off. I don’t know what he’s so pissy about. This was his idea.

A couple people who were sitting at the bar get up to leave—presumably to find a love seat or a rancid, dark corner—so I settle onto one of the barstools and order a whiskey sour, with no garnish. (I don’t see the point in sticking a fluorescent cherry on something. It’s probably a biohazard.)

I take a slow sip and try to pretend I’m not really here.

“I’ll have the same as him.”

I look to my left and find a pale-haired woman taking a seat on the neighbouring barstool. She sets her comically large handbag on the bar in front of her and starts rifling through it. She seems to notice me eyeing her bag, and stops.

“I needed to bring lots of hand sanitizer,” she says, to justify the size of it.

“Fair enough,” I say as I lift my glass.

The bartender sets down the second drink and the woman hands him some cash that she’d managed to fish out of her purse. Not using a credit card in a place like this seems like a smart move. I wish I’d thought of that.

“Do you even know what you ordered?” I ask her, mildly amused, as she lifts her glass, too.

She doesn’t hesitate to take a gulp. “Doesn’t matter,” she says, relaxing her shoulders. “Just need to get through the evening in one piece.”

“Planning on making the rounds, then?” I nod towards the rest of the club, where some people are drifting from person to person just to see if they’re a match.

“Hah. No. I—My friend dragged me here tonight, and I promised to stay until midnight,” she says. “But not a moment later, or my carriage turns back into a pumpkin.”

“I’m in a similar situation,” I say with a small smile.

“Ah, you’re a fan of squash-based transportation as well, are you?”

I try to hold back a bigger smile, but it seems to get the better of me. “A friend dragged me here,” I explain. “My flatmate, actually. He’s—”

I stop and look off in the direction Dev went, but I can’t see him anymore. It’s infuriatingly dark in here.

“Dragged you here and then disappeared, huh?” she says. “Sounds like he and Ginger would be perfect for each other.”

I laugh, even though the thought of Dev finding someone here makes me feel uneasy. But I shove that thought aside.

“I’m Niall, by the way,” I say, reaching across myself to shake the woman’s hand.

“Agatha,” she replies.

“As in Christie?”

“You really want to play that game, _One Direction_?”

“…Touché.”

**DEV**

Somehow I managed to find a pillar to lean against without anyone making out right next to it, but I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here with my arms crossed, scowling.

I’d only just stepped away and Niall had already found someone to talk to. Not that she seems like his _type_ , but still. I should be the one talking to girls, since it was my idea to come here.

He glances over in my direction after a while, but I don’t think he can see me. I, however, can see him just fine, sitting under the lights above the bar. I probably shouldn’t spend the whole night watching him.

I don’t make the conscious decision to look away, though, but I do, because some woman with a really shiny ponytail suddenly appears in my face.

“Hi,” she says. She sounds drunk.

“Uh, hi—” I barely get the words out before she takes my head in both hands and pulls me in for a kiss.

Her lips are wet with whatever sweet cocktail she’d been drinking, and she’s pushing so hard against me that my jaw hurts. And then, just as abruptly, she pulls back and frowns slightly, then walks away.

_What the actual fuck?_

Slightly dazed, I watch her walk over to a couple of people chatting at a standing table nearby, and say something to the guy. He leans in and kisses her, too, and then she shrugs and walks away. Like this is a perfectly normal thing to do.

This was definitely a bad idea.

I almost wonder if I should go grab Niall and leave now, but some guy a couple tables over catches my attention. Because he’s staring at me.

I look away quickly when we make eye contact.

I haven’t been this embarrassed since—

I’ve never been this embarrassed.

**NIALL**

“It’s absurd, really.” Agatha takes another swig from her glass. It’s her second one and already her voice has gotten louder. “Soulmates. As if you can just match people up in perfect pairs and live happily ever after.”

“It works for some people, I guess,” I say with a shrug, though I’m inclined to agree with her.

“Does it? Or has everyone just been brainwashed into believing that their lives are perfect because ‘fate,’ or what have you, made their match? And some people don’t even find their soulmates! Where’s _fate_ then, hmm?”

“So do you, like, not even believe in soulmates?” I ask, far more engrossed in the conversation that I’d care to admit.

“I mean, I don’t know. I did when I was younger. I tried looking. But now, it’s like…” Agatha leans her elbow against the bar and sighs heavily. “It’s like all it is is social pressure, you know? You’ve got to find your soulmate. You’re not complete until you’re entirely devoted to one person, and one person only, whether you want to or not. It’s like no other relationships matter, at that point. It’s absurd!”

“So you’ve said.”

She drops her head in her hand and covers part of her face. “Alright, alright. Sorry. It’s not the time or place for my ranting.”

“If there were ever a time and place to rant,” I say, gesturing to the air around us, “it’s this.”

“You probably think I’m crazy, though,” she says, half smiling.

“Only a little.”

She looks at me for a second, slight amusement on her face, like she’s trying to figure something out. “I like you, Niall,” she says. “You’re kind of rude.”

“Thank you?” I feel oddly flattered by that.

“It’s refreshing,” she says, and takes another swig from her glass. “Most guys are very _nice_ to me. It’s so insincere.”

“I mean I can be ruder, if you want,” I add. “I’ve been holding back.”

She grins at me. “Alright, then. Bring it.”

**DEV**

No matter where I go, I can’t escape it. The people. The kissing.

Another woman came up to me, though at least this one asked first. I didn’t really _want_ to kiss her, but I’d be kicking myself if my soulmate had been right in my face and I never knew it because I was too scared to try.

But it’s not just people coming up to me, it’s everyone. Everyone latching onto each other. It’s too much.

I try to find refuge in the toilets, taking some time to wash my hands and splash water on my face, but I don’t really have solitude in there for long. A couple guys walk in and start making out, like they don’t even realize I’m here.

I freeze, standing at the sink, not sure where to look, until I accidentally make eye contact with one of them in the mirror and he goes red.

“Oh my god, sorry,” he says, laughing. “I didn’t—We just Sparked.” He’s saying it like it explains their behaviour, but it feels like bragging.

I yank out some paper towel to dry my hands and mutter, _“Congrats,”_ under my breath as I walk out. I head straight to the bar to get another drink, the opposite end from where Niall and his new friend are chatting—still—though I catch his eye for a second and he raises his glass with a nod. I raise mine, too, because I don’t know what else to do. I feel like an idiot.

I turn around and scan the rest of the club for a place to drink alone, when some guy catches my attention again. The same guy as before. Because he’s still staring at me.

What the fuck is his problem?

**NIALL**

“That’s the thing, isn’t it,” I say, smacking the bar top with the side of my hand. I’ve gotten more animated as the evening’s dragged on. “People act like we’re supposed to have our shit together by now because we’re almost thirty, but honestly, who the fuck has their shit together anyway?”

“No, no, you’re absolutely right,” Agatha says, patting me on the shoulder.

“And Dev, I mean, he’s basically as immature as I am, right? But he acts like he’s all superior because he has a _grown up_ job, and I still work in retail.”

“Dude,” she says, like she’s spent too much time with her American friend. “There’s no shame in working retail.”

“I know,” I reply, more emphatically than required. “And, like, I kind of feel sorry for him, even. He’s so miserable at work, and I just want him to, I dunno, find something he’s passionate about? Or at least something that doesn’t make him hate himself, you know?”

She nods and pats me on the shoulder again.

“And he has a trust fund or something,” I continue. I don’t know when I became such a hand-talker, though. “He can afford to figure out what he actually wants. His father might not like it, but who cares? I’m still there! I’ve still got his back!”

“Have you told him?” she says.

“Told him what?”

“That you’ve got his back. That you want him to find and follow his passion. That you, you know… care.”

I let out a sarcastic laugh and take another drink. “It wouldn’t make a difference. When it comes to stuff like this, Dev just does what’s expected of him.”

“I mean, that’s what most of us do,” she says.

“I wouldn’t know.” I shrug. “No one’s really expected that much of me.”

She looks at me with her eyebrows pinched up in sympathy, and I cover her eyes with my hand.

“No, stop, don’t do that,” I say with a laugh. “Don’t feel sorry for me.”

She lifts my hand away and holds it in hers. “I can’t help it, Niall. You’re a very pathetic person.”

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay, though.” She lets go of my hand and picks up her glass. “We’re all a bit pathetic sometimes.”

I pick up my glass as well and do a quick scan of the club while I take a sip. I realize I haven’t seen Dev in a while, but then I spot him. Being led by the hand by some woman, towards the far wall. Into the darkness.

Agatha turns her head to follow my line of sight and then looks back at me. “What’s that about?” she asks, probably referring to the scowl on my face.

“Dev,” I say. “Going off with someone. I suppose he’s taking this soulmate search rather seriously.”

“Jealous?” she says. “Because if you want to go out there and stick your tongue in a stranger’s mouth, don’t let me stop you.”

“Hah. I’d rather stick my tongue in an electric socket,” I say, and she shrugs.

“Like I said, don’t let me stop you.”

I laugh half-heartedly. “Anyway, I’m not jealous. I’ve no interest in finding my soulmate this way.”

She stares at me for far too long and then sighs gently. “Have you told him?” she says, and I frown at her. “I’m just saying, maybe you should try kissing _him_ , instead—”

“I _did_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well,” she says, looking down at her drink. “That sucks.”

I look down at mine, too, and then lift it again. “Yeah.”

**DEV**

I don’t know why I’m doing this. We didn’t even have a Spark.

But that seems to be of no consequence to the woman on the love seat with me, so I don’t stop it.

Maybe I’ve been overthinking this whole thing. I’ve been too focused on finding my soulmate that I didn’t stop to consider this. That I could just hook up with someone. That they don’t have to be The One.

I’m sure Niall has. There were a couple of his dates that went on much later than I expected, so it’s very likely he…

If he can do it, then I can do it.

I mean, I think I can. I should. I don’t know.

She starts sucking on my neck and I look around to make sure no one’s watching. This seems way more wrong, somehow. Even though most people seem to be too preoccupied to notice, because they are _also_ necking in the love seats.

Actually, one person is watching me. Staring at me. Again.

I don’t avert my eyes this time, I just glare at him until he turns and walks away. What a prick.

“Er, excuse me, sorry,” I say, as I pry the woman off of me. “I have to go, but, uh, thank you.”

I quickly get up and follow in the direction the guy went. I see him go into the bathroom, so I barrel in after him. He seems surprised, but not distressed.

“Why’ve you been watching me all night?” I bark at him.

He smiles sympathetically. I can see now, in the better lighting, that he looks a few years older than me, which is unusual for one of these parties. Though he’s better looking than half the people here.

“You don’t really look like you’re having a good time here, is all,” he says.

I fold my arms over my chest and my jaw juts forward. “So?”

“It’s a party,” he says. “It’s supposed to be fun.”

“I don’t see how looking for my soulmate is supposed to be _fun_ ,” I scoff.

“You can have fun with someone who’s not your soulmate, you know. Sometimes it’s just about enjoying the journey.”

“What kind of hippie nonsense is that?” I say. I sound just like my father.

The guy laughs anyway. “What’s your name?”

I consider making one up, but I’m not that creative. “Dev.”

“Nice to meet you, Dev. I’m Lamb,” he says, extending his hand to shake mine. “Can I give you my number?”

**NIALL**

It seems like lots of people have met their matches already. That or they’ve given up, because the place is far less busy than it was when we got here. The music has settled into a slow pulse, and couples are scattered across the club, and I’m tipsy enough to find it pleasant, at this point.

Agatha and I managed to snag an empty love seat, which is infinitely more comfortable than the barstools. It’s covered in cheap-looking red velvet, but it’s plush enough that it changes colour when I drag my hand over the arm rest. (I’m glad that Agatha has all that hand sanitizer.)

“Sometimes I think I might not have a soulmate,” she says, leaning back and staring up at the lantern above us. “Like I’m never going to find them because they don’t exist.”

“Does that bother you?” I ask, when she slumps towards me and rests her head on my shoulder. I lean into her as well and watch the light in the lantern flicker. Must be one of those fake candles.

She sighs. “Not really. I mean, I’d sort of like to, you know, have that thing that other people have. That connection with someone,” she says. “But whenever I try to picture what my soulmate might be like, I draw a blank.”

“I used to think I could picture my soulmate…”

Something in Agatha’s handbag starts buzzing—her mobile, most likely—resting on the love seat between us.

“My alarm,” she says as she silences it. “It’s midnight.” She sits up and looks back at me over her shoulder. “Guess I should go, now.”

“Right, right,” I say, sitting forward as well. “Your pumpkin.”

She smiles a little. “Exactly.”

I feel like I should suggest that we keep in touch, or something—it’s not every day that I meet someone I can tolerate conversing with for hours, without a buffer—but I wouldn’t even know what to say.

“Give me your phone,” she says, holding out her hand to me, palm up. It takes me a second to clue in.

I get my phone and hand it over, and she grabs my hand and presses my fingertip to the sensor to unlock it, since I forgot. She looks amusingly determined as she types something in. It only now occurs to me that she could be texting something embarrassing to my contact list. But then her own phone buzzes again and she hands mine back.

“There,” she says. “If you ever need a drinking buddy, or you just want to bitch about your flatmate, or whatever.”

I snort. “Thanks.”

“Oh, shit,” she says suddenly, angling towards me and leaning in. It’s the first time I’ve heard her swear all night. “Ginger’s right over there, and she’ll kill me for not taking this seriously.” She sounds concerned, but she’s also giggling.

I glance over to try and see her friend, but she grabs the side of my head and turns it so I face her.

“Do you mind?” she says, her eyebrows raised pleadingly, as she puts her arms around my neck.

“Mind what?”

“Just, pretend we came over here to make out.”

I can’t help but snicker at that. Agatha laughs, too.

“Shut up, it’s not like it would kill you.”

“You don’t know that,” I say. “I’m very delicate.”

She laughs again. “Seriously, shut up,” she says, pulling my head down to hers, and I let her.

I’m warm and relaxed and everything is funnier now anyway. I’m still laughing when our lips meet.

And then I’m not laughing.

It feels like the whole world just got sucked into one point—a singularity—and then burst out just as suddenly. There’s nothing— No, there’s everything. Everything is inside out. Everything is inside me.

I’ve been punched in the face, once. This is kind of like that—not the pain, exactly—except instead of my face, it’s my entire being. Like someone punched my soul in the face.

I jerk my head back and we stare at each other in shock.

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boom.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's stuck around this far. Especially after the last chapter. 😅
> 
> We're nearing the home stretch, eep!

**DEV**

The crowd has died down by the time I settle in at the bar, though I scowl at anyone who does try to approach me. I’ve given up at this point. I would have left by now, but I’ve no idea where Niall is and I’m too tired to look for him.

I’m trying to figure out how many drinks I’ve had—and if I can get another—when Niall appears at my side and drags me off the barstool. I stumble when my feet hit the floor, but he holds me up and leads me out, much quicker than I’d like.

“We have to go,” he says seriously, and I don’t argue with him.

I squint in the light from the street lamps, so harsh and white compared to inside. Niall continues dragging me along, even before my eyes have a chance to adjust.

“What’s the rush, Kelly?” I say with a snort, but when he looks at me, I can tell he’s upset. “Shit, what happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbles, finally letting go of my arm. He shoves his hands in his pockets as we wait for the crosswalk signal to change.

I probably shouldn’t push him. I know there’s no point. When Niall doesn’t want to talk about something, he’s a steel vault. But he seems shaken, like something terrible has happened, and I can’t just leave it alone.

He huffs and looks both ways before darting into the street, crossing against the lights, and I lag behind him. He walks faster than me when he wants to—those damn legs—so I grab his arm to stop when we reach the other side.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have made us go to that stupid party, but please. Tell me what’s going on.”

He wriggles his arm free from my grasp but doesn’t keep walking. He just looks down at his shoes for a minute before looking me in the eye.

“I think I found my soulmate,” he says without blinking.

I want to say something, but my brain and my mouth seem to have stopped communicating.

He turns away and tenses his shoulders. “And I don’t want to see her again.”

* * *

**NIALL**

“If you can get your ass down here ASAP, I will give you my first-born child,” Keris says over the phone when I pick up.

“I haven’t had a day off in over a week,” I say, even though I’m more than willing to step in. Sitting around the flat in my downtime is driving me up the wall—and Dev and I have barely said a word to each other since the party.

“Literally every child to come from my womb, Niall,” she says. “I will give you all of them.”

“Fine, I’ll be there in twenty,” I tell her, and hope that she doesn’t change her mind about never having kids.

I don’t mind being at work these days, anyway. It’s better than being in my own head all the time. I can get into a rhythm at work. Stocking shelves. Helping customers. Pretending I care which light fixtures people install in their bathrooms. It’s an excellent distraction.

Because otherwise I’m thinking about Dev, and about Agatha, and about how he’s not my soulmate, but she is. And how none of this makes sense, and I must have slipped into some alternate dimension where everything in my life is backwards.

Or maybe I’ve been living in this alternate dimension all along. Maybe there’s another version of me out there, who’s madly in love with Agatha, and can’t figure out why he Sparked with his roommate instead. And maybe if we both wish really hard at the same time, we’ll end up back where we belong.

…I’ve watched way too many cheesy films this week.

This is why it’s better when I’m at work. Even on days like today.

Keris yells at me for leaving a pallet of tiles out on the floor, even though I was just about to put them away. A customer scolds me for not knowing as much as he does about different types of screws. A frantic woman carrying a baby comes in looking for batteries, and hands me her child, making me think that Keris put a curse on me and I’ll be bombarded with infants for the rest of time.

But it’s still better.

It’s still better than thinking about the look on Dev’s face when I told him I’d found my soulmate. It’s better than staring at my ceiling and wondering if everything I thought I knew about myself was a lie. It’s better than repeatedly staring at a single text message: _“Can we talk?”_

I wanted to delete it. I wanted to block the number. But that feels like cutting off a part of myself that I can’t even define. I also knew I couldn’t talk, though. So I just stared. I stared at it for so long, I could see the inverse image of the screen when I closed my eyes.

But I can’t check my mobile when I’m at work, so I don’t have to think about it now. I don’t have to think about the message or the party. I don’t have to think about—

“Agatha?” I stop when I turn down the next aisle, towing a cart full of merchandise to re-shelve, and see a blond woman with pink streaks in her hair shopping for lightbulbs.

She stares at me with wide brown eyes—doe-like, even—and it’s clear neither of us was expecting this. “Niall,” she says when she finally starts blinking again. “What— I— I mean, hi.”

My _fight, flight, or freeze_ instincts are kicking in, and I opt for the third. “Hey,” I say, more a grunt than an actual word.

“Hey.” She smiles a little as the shock wears off, though she still seems nervous. “Can we talk?”

* * *

**DEV**

_“Going out after work. Don’t wait up,”_ Niall texts me in response to my message of: _“Food tonight?”_

I thought I could pick up something for us on my way home. Give us a chance to sit together. Catch up on a Friday night. Just _be_ , for a while.

I’m not sure which of us has been avoiding the other, this time. We’ve both mostly stayed in our own rooms this week. But I’m sick of it, and I just want my best friend back. I don’t care if he’s…

He’s found his soulmate. _Jesus Fucking Christ._

I mean, I wanted this for him. I want him to be happy. I mean, I _want_ to want him to be happy, even if that means spending his life with someone else. It was inevitable

He’s not happy, though. I think this whole _his soulmate is a woman_ thing is messing him up. (And he thinks _I’m_ the one who needs to keep an open mind.)

But if he doesn’t want to talk about it—to talk to me at all—that’s fine. If he wants to go out after work with god knows who, and avoid me forever, then so be it.

I open a new message on my phone and take out my wallet. The card inside is a little worn at the corners, because I keep taking it out and putting it back. Sometimes I just turn it over and over in my hand, as if it holds some sort of answer for me.

Lamb’s card. (He has a fucking _card_ , that’s how frequently he gives out his number in bars.) (I feel like that should bother me, but I don’t really care.)

I’ve considered sending a text at various points throughout the week. He said I could, any time I wanted. But I’ve chickened out every time. It feels like opening a door to something I’m not ready to face.

I thought if it was just Niall, it was okay. It wasn’t real, it didn’t mean anything about me. It was just convenient. It was easier than all of this. Dating. Soulmates. It was simple.

Lamb saw me, though. He saw me and he knew that I was hiding something. From everyone. From myself—I don’t know.

I don’t usually like being _seen_. But this was different

I twirl the card between my fingers now, contemplating my options. Niall’s going out after work and doesn’t want me to wait up. Whatever the fuck that means. Since when does he just _go out_?

I know what this is. He’s avoiding me, still.

So I turn the card over again.

* * *

**NIALL**

I carry two large black coffees over to the table where Agatha is sitting, and she thanks me when I place one in front of her.

“So,” she says, after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I guess we should talk about the elephant in the room.” She mimes a small explosion with her hands.

I smile a little, despite myself. “I do really like you, Agatha,” I tell her, a bit disgusted with my own sincerity today. “But I’m gay.”

“I really like you, too.” She smiles back. “And I know.”

“Does this mean fate fucked up?” I ask, and she shrugs.

“I don’t really care about fate. Do you?”

“I dunno. Maybe not.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, anyway,” she adds. “And it might not be a mistake.”

I don’t want to admit that I’ve thought so, too. Because I don’t know what that would mean.

She crosses her forearms on the table in front of her and leans towards me, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “What is a _soulmate_ , anyway?”

I open my mouth to answer—it seems obvious—but I realize I have no idea what to say. “A partner?”

“Anyone can be a partner. A business partner is a partner,” she says, rolling her eyes. “No, a soulmate is something bigger than that, right? It’s about a connection that runs deep.” She taps her sternum.

I smirk. “I thought you didn’t believe in soulmates.”

“That’s because I didn’t realize there could be different kinds,” she says, and I raise an eyebrow questioningly. “All anyone ever talks about are romantic soulmates. The _one person_ you spend your life with, and shut everyone else out. That’s it.”

“I mean… Yeah,” I say slowly. “But you’re saying, what, there’s non-romantic soulmates?”

“Why not?”

“Well—” I don’t know how to answer that, either.

“Look, Niall,” she says, maintaining fierce eye contact. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t generally _click_ with most people.”

“No, I— Me neither.”

“It’s not nothing. But it doesn’t have to be the _something_ that everyone says it should be, does it?”

“I suppose not…”

“So let’s just let it be what it is,” she says, sitting back and taking a sip of her coffee.

The corner of my mouth twitches up, so I lift my mug to obscure it. “Soulfriends?” I suggest, before taking a sip myself.

“Nah, I say soulmates,” she says. “Reclaim the word. Ruin it for all the romantic couples.”

“I think I’d like that,” I say. I can’t hide the smile on my face now.

* * *

**DEV**

Lamb looks perfectly relaxed on my sofa, with a beer in his hand, even though he seems far too refined for this sort of thing. (Then again, I met him at a trashy party.)

I guess he does this a lot.

“It’s alright,” he says, setting his glass on the coffee table. (I did pour the cans out into glasses, at least.)

“What’s alright?” I ask, trying not to sound as terrified as I feel.

“That you don’t usually do this sort of thing.”

I laugh to cover my nerves. “Is that obvious?”

He smiles and leans back, his arm resting across the back of the sofa behind me. “You seem lost, Dev,” he says. “And I get it. It’s tricky to know which way is up when the whole world is sideways.”

I nod, but I have no idea what that means. Sounds like a load of bollocks, to me.

“But you don’t have to have it all figured out,” he continues. His arm finds its way around my shoulder and I try not to flinch. “We’re all just trying to make meaning out of what we have.” He brushes his fingers through my hair lazily. “But sometimes there is no meaning. Sometimes things just are what they are.”

He’s definitely talking nonsense now, but I let him go on.

“Sometimes we want things we think we shouldn’t,” he says. I think he’s leaning closer. “We’ll ask ourselves what it means. We’ll rationalize. But it’s okay to want, Dev. It’s okay to go after the things that bring you joy. The things that feel good.”

He swoops in even closer. His breath is warm against my cheek. “I can show you things that feel good,” he says.

I angle my face away when he tries to kiss me. “Sorry, I—I just thought—”

“We’re not going to have a Spark,” he says. He doesn’t seem at all offended by my reluctance, though. “I promise you, this will not get that complicated.”

“How do you know?” I ask as he plays with the hair at the nape of my neck.

“Well, I already had mine,” he says.

He tries to kiss me again, but I hold him back. “How’s that… possible?”

“I’ve already kissed my soulmate.” He looks like he finds this dreadfully amusing. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But—What about your—”

“We broke up,” he says, more seriously. “I didn’t want to be tied down and he didn’t want to keep up. It’s better this way.”

“Is it?” I ask. He’s moved in close again, somehow.

“I’m helping people, Dev,” he says. “I find people who are lost, people who are confused. People like you. And I show them there’s more to life than soulmates.”

I don’t ask him what he was doing at a soulmate party, though. I think I can figure that out. It’s a game to him.

I guess that makes it easier.

“Sometimes I think I don’t want to find my soulmate,” I whisper, and he nods.

“I know,” he says. And then I kiss him.

* * *

“What the fuck, Dev?”

I scramble to untangle myself from Lamb’s arms—and button my shirt—when Niall gets in and throws his jacket to the floor in a huff.

Lamb sits back coolly and rakes his hand through his hair. “I thought you didn’t have a soulmate,” he says to me, one eyebrow quirked up.

“We’re not soulmates!” Niall and I snap.

Lamb gives us both a condescendingly amused smile. “I suppose I’d best be off, now, anyway,” he says.

“You think?” Niall bites back at him, stepping aside so Lamb can leave.

“I’ll show myself out, then.” He nods to me. “Best of luck,” he says, and then turns and gives Niall a small salute on his way out. Which just seems to piss Niall off more.

“Who the hell was that?” Niall asks me, once Lamb is gone.

“Someone I met at the party,” I explain, trying not to seem like I’ve just been horribly humiliated. One of my shirt buttons is in the wrong hole, though, but I don’t fix it.

“Well, he sure as hell isn’t your soulmate, so what was he doing here?”

“What did it look like?” I say. “We were just ‘fooling around.’ You should know all about that.”

Niall steps back, like I’ve just punched him. “Right,” he says, tightening his jaw. “Sorry for interrupting, then.”

“Where were you, anyway?” I ask, louder, when he turns towards his bedroom. As if he thinks he’s the one who should be angry right now.

“I was out with my soulmate,” he says, his tone completely flat.

I watch in silence as he closes himself up in his room, shutting the door forcefully, and I keep staring at the door until my vision goes blurry and I shut my eyes tight.

I sink back into the sofa and drag my hands over my face. I don’t know what to do now.

I think I’m lost.

* * *

**NIALL**

I’ve been sitting here, on the couch, watching Netflix for over an hour, but not even Bob Ross seems to be able to put me to sleep tonight.

I’ve tried everything. Lying in bed in the dark. Drinking some of that awful herbal tea my sister recommended. I turned my screens off. I turned them back on to watch ASMR videos and serenely painted landscapes. I’ve sat in every room of the flat to try and relax—well, almost every room.

Dev’s been in his room all night. Turned in early, I think, because he wasn’t out here when I came to get a drink of water, hours ago. I can’t help but wonder if he—

His door creaks open while I’m staring at it, and startles a weird squawk out of me. He squints at me through heavy lids, with his hair all smushed up to one side, and one leg of his joggers bunched up around his calf.

“Sorry,” I whisper, as if there’s anyone left to wake. “The headphones were giving me a headache, but I tried to keep the volume down—”

Dev grunts and shakes his head as he shuffles towards me, so I fold up my legs to give him room to sit. “You didn’t wake me,” he says gruffly.

I pause the show and close my laptop, while he tries to rub his eyes open. Neither of us speaks for a while, the silence stretching out long and thin between us, but it feels like it could snap at any moment. And I’ve no idea what might come tumbling out when it does.

“Your soulmate,” Dev says, staring forward at the dark television screen. There’s a lamp on in his bedroom, and the light is peeking through the door, haloing his head from this angle. Everything hurts when I look at him.

“Agatha,” I say. I hadn’t told him her name yet. Somehow I thought if I didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be real.

He finally looks at me again. “Do you love her?” he asks, only he doesn’t seem angry, like he did when I first told him about her.

“No,” I tell him. It’s the truth.

“Do you think you ever could?”

“Maybe,” I say. “But not the way people think I should. Not the way I… Not like that.”

Dev lowers his gaze to the floor. “How does— What does that mean, exactly?” he asks.

I move my laptop to the coffee table and sit up properly, next to him. “It means maybe there’s more than one way to have a soulmate,” I say hesitantly. “There are different kinds of love, why not different kinds of soulmates?”

“Okay…” He nods his head slowly, like he’s still processing.

“Like, maybe it’s okay to have more than just your _one person_ ,” I add, and he looks back up at me. “Maybe it’s okay to have your _people_.”

He watches me for a minute, his expression unreadable, before he says anything. “You haven’t slept at all, have you?”

“No, but—”

“Come on,” he says, taking my hand firmly in his. “You said you sleep better in my bed.”

I stand up after him as he leads me toward his room. “That’s only if you’re there, too,” I say quietly.

He turns back to me, still stone-faced. “I know.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided you can have the final chapter a day early, as a treat. 🙂 (Also time is a construct and the calendar is meaningless.)
> 
> Many thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting along the way! Hope you enjoy this little wrap up.

**DEV**

I don’t know how long it took him to fall asleep once we got here. I think I conked out about thirty seconds after my head hit the pillow, but I know he must have fallen asleep eventually, because he’s still sleeping now. On my arm.

I’ve been trying not to wake him—I don’t want to break the bubble of this moment, this quiet little pocket of space and time where nothing else matters but the sound of him breathing softly—but my fingertips are buzzing and my arm is going numb, so I gently nudge him aside until I can get my arm out from under his neck.

I hold my arm up in front of me, bending and straightening my fingers until they stop tingling, but he stirs and rolls towards me. He lets out a little huff next to me, like he’s laughing in his sleep.

“You look like a really awful magician,” he mumbles, his face squished against my pillow.

“What?”

“Y’know, like, close up magic tricks, or whatever.”

I shake out my hand a final time and lower my arm between us. “I thought you were asleep,” I say, keeping my voice low because he’s so close. A normal volume would feel like shouting right now.

“Mmn,” he grunts, which I think means _no_ , but his eyes aren’t fully open, so I’m not sure if I believe that. “Jus’ woke up.”

“Well, then your Sleeping Man impersonation is very convincing,” I say, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

He buries his head between the pillow and my shoulder and snorts. “God, you’re annoying,” he says, though it’s mostly muffled.

“Then my work here is done,” I say as I sit up and stretch my neck. I’m about to offer to put the kettle on when he reaches for my shoulder.

“Wait,” he says, pulling me back down onto my side in front of him and curling up against my back. “We—I think we need to talk about this.” His sleepy muttering makes his words less terrifying, somehow.

“Talk about what?” I ask, as if I don’t know exactly what he means. _This_. Us, now, cuddling in my bed. We don’t really do this. But I fucked everything up when I kissed him, and now it’s never going back the way it was. I don’t think I’d want it to.

“Quit being a little shit,” he says as he jostles me.

“What do you want to know, then?” I say quietly, conceding to him. It’s easier like this, anyway. Facing away. Whispering. Like it doesn’t have to count, if I ruin it all over again.

“What do you actually want?” he asks. As if that isn’t a loaded question. “That guy last night, you were—”

“ _No_ ,” I cut in. “I don’t want that. I don’t want _him_. I don’t—I thought it didn’t matter.”

“What didn’t matter?”

“Just—” I sigh and he squeezes me with his arm. “It doesn’t matter what I do, because I can’t have what I want.”

He bumps me with his head and nestles against me. “You can, though,” he says. “Whatever it is, you can have it. I’ll make sure of it.”

“It’s not that simple, is it—”

“Of course it is.”

“No one else will understand—“

“Fuck them, they don’t count,” he says. “Not for this.”

“We’re—We’re not soulmates,” I say, much less emphatically than last night. My voice catches in my throat.

“I don’t care,” he says, his breath ghosting over my skin. “It doesn’t change how I feel.”

I place my hand over his, on my chest, and curl my fingers around it. He makes it sound like it’s so easy, but it isn’t really. If we were supposed to be together, the universe would’ve—

“Dev,” he says. He presses his lips to the back of my neck. “Stop thinking.”

“But what do we tell people?” I ask when he kisses me again. “How do we explain—”

“We tell people,” he replies, lifting himself onto his elbow to lean over me, “to mind their own fucking business.”

I turn my head to look at him and he kisses my cheek. “What if you get sick of me?” I ask. “You’ll still have your soulmate, but I’ll be—”

“It’s been _eleven years_ , Dev. I’ve had plenty of chances to run, yeah?”

“But what if—”

“Seriously,” he says as he pulls me down onto my back. “Stop thinking.”

I blink up at him for a second as he holds himself above me, like it’s a dare. Daring me to just let this be what it is, without trying to rationalize it. To stop thinking and start feeling.

_“Whatever it is, you can have it.”_

I reach up for his mouth with mine and pull him down by the back of his neck until he collapses on top of me and we both run out of air.

I don’t know what it’s like to have a Spark, but I imagine this is better. A Spark is once. It’s a shock. And it can turn your world upside down.

But this… It could be like this forever. Anytime we want it, it’s here for us. With us. We’ll always have it, if we choose. And it doesn’t turn everything upside down.

If anything, I feel the right way up, for the first time.

* * *

**NIALL**

“I can’t—get this—fucking—thing—” I grumble as I untie my necktie for the seventh time. I just can’t seem to get the ends to line up right. As if I’ve never worn a tie before. (Though I supposed _rarely_ wouldn’t be a stretch.)

“Come here, then,” Agatha says with a sigh, pulling me away from the mirror so she can assess the situation. She tugs on both ends of the tie, hanging loosely around my neck, and frowns. “Are you sure it’s long enough?”

“I don’t know!” I say, turning back to the mirror. “It’s a standard tie, I thought.”

“Well, just, like, cheat the skinny end shorter.”

“I tried that and it was too long.”

“Just—Give it here, I’ll do it,” she says, and hangs the tie around her own neck when I hand it to her. I watch as she tries to estimate the right length for each end, and then loops it around itself into a tidy knot. “There, try that.”

She loosens and removes it before pulling it over my head and adjusting it, under my collar. I take a step back to look at myself in the full length mirror, smoothing the ends down over my front.

“I can’t even tell if that’s right,” I say. “I just look… weird.”

“You look very handsome,” she says. “Now, put on your jacket and let’s get a move on.”

“I look like a tit,” I say as she passes me the jacket that was draped over the tufted armchair in the corner of the hotel room.

“A handsome tit. Let’s go.” She tugs on my arm, but I stay put in front of the mirror.

“Maybe we should just elope,” I say, grimacing at my reflection.

“Niall, I’m flattered, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to marry someone else today,” she says, and I can’t help but smile at that. She hooks her arm around mine and leans into me as we both watch ourselves in the mirror. “It’s going to be fine, you know. Dev’s parents will say something passive aggressive, and you’ll smile and nod, and then you’ll go up to the honeymoon suite with your new husband and do whatever it is people do on their wedding night.”

“Pass out and sleep like the dead?”

“Yeah, probably.”

* * *

**DEV**

“Why couldn’t we have just eloped?” I say as I fuss with the knot in my tie.

“Because your mother would have had a coronary if you’d done that,” Baz says, lounging in the armchair in the corner as he idly scrolls through his phone.

I stop fussing with the tie and fuss with my hair instead. “We could’ve just not told anyone.”

“You want to keep pretending you’re just flatmates forever?” he asks, finally looking over at me, with an eyebrow raised.

I’d be lying if I said I haven’t considered it. But we’re done hiding. We’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Sure, some people were a bit scandalized to find out that Niall and I are getting married even though we’re not soulmates, but most of them came around to the fact that it really makes no difference, as long as we’re happy. (And the ones who didn’t come around weren’t invited to the wedding; good riddance, Aunt Diana.)

Baz gets up when there’s a knock at the door, since I’m still trying to get my hair to cooperate, and opens it to find my father standing on the other side.

“Basil,” my father says courteously. “I was hoping I might speak to Devlin, quickly.”

“We’re supposed to be downstairs in ten minutes, so I’m not sure—” Baz begins, and I’m grateful for him playing interference, but I don’t think I need it right now.

“It’s fine,” I say, giving up on my cowlick. “I have a minute.”

Baz looks back at me and nods, and tells me he’ll meet me downstairs. My father steps into the room cautiously, looking vaguely human today.

“Devlin,” he says, making a rigid attempt at a smile. “Your mother thought I should bring you these.” He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small box containing a pair of cufflinks that probably cost more than my entire suit.

“Wore these at my wedding,” he adds, the corners of his eyes softening slightly.

“Ah. Thank you,” I say with an awkward nod. I suppose he wants me to put them on, but I’d rather wait until he’s gone so he doesn’t watch me struggle with them.

“You’re—” he begins, and then stops to clear his throat. “You’ve really come a long way,” he says. “You’re taking on more responsibility and forging your own path and… Well. It’s good to see this side of you.”

Forging my own path. I’m not sure if he’s talking about me marrying someone who’s not my soulmate, or about my new start-up, but either way, this might be the nicest thing he’s ever said to me.

“Thanks,” I say, though I’m still scowling. He’s going to have to do better than that to make up for the last thirty years. But it’s a start.

“Right. Yes, well. Your mother will be waiting for me,” he says taking a step back towards the door, and I nod again. “Congratulations, son.”

I stare at the door after he leaves through it, and then down at the cufflinks in my hand.

We really should have eloped.

* * *

**NIALL**

The ceremony and dinner went over alright, I think, but the after dinner drinking and dancing at the reception is when I feel like I can finally exhale. Just a little. People are tipsy and distracted and have stopped coming up to me every five seconds.

Dev’s gone to get us some more drinks, and I’m left sitting at an empty table with Baz, while our respective soulmates dance with each other. Seems they were good friends, once—even used to date—but fell out of touch because of life and everything. I almost wonder if I would have met Agatha sooner, had she and Simon remained close. It’s almost like we’ve gone out of our way to avoid our destinies, and yet fate found us anyway. (Which is great, as it turns out. She’s the best “Best Man” I could have asked for, and kept me from murdering people on several occasions over the past year.)

“I’m exhausted,” I say, doing a really poor job of holding my head up as lean on my elbows. I hardly slept at all last night, because Dev and I were forced to get separate hotel rooms. Something to do with _tradition_ in his family, even though I feel like we’ve already fucked up tradition, anyway. “How does he have so much energy?”

Baz looks over when I nod in Simon’s direction, where he’s currently spinning Agatha in circles.“I have no idea,” Baz says. “He’s like a nuclear generator.”

I watch Baz as he watches Simon, and it occurs to me how much I’ve wanted what they have. And how I might never have what they have. That one person who’s _everything_.

“So, when are you two tying the knot, then?” I say with a smirk, because I know how much they both hate that question. But I am mildly curious. It’s clear they’re committed to each other, and they pretty much act like they’re already married anyway.

Baz huffs a laugh. “We don’t need that stuff,” he says, and before I can get offended, he turns to me, more seriously. “It’s different for us. It makes sense for you and Dev, but…”

“But what?”

“Simon and I are free to walk away at any moment without a hassle,” he says. “Every day we stay together, we’re saying to each other, _‘I choose you.’_ But you and Dev, getting married, you’re saying to the world, _‘I choose him.’_ And I think that’s kind of lovely.”

“Jesus,” I say, stunned by the elegant simplicity of his response. “Who knew you were such a sap?”

He smiles at me sarcastically. “I think your new husband is about to be eaten by wolves, by the way,” he says, looking past my shoulder.

I turn and see Dev, not even at the bar yet, cornered by some distant relatives who seem to think this is the time and place to catch up with him after ten years. “Well, I’ll remember him fondly,” I say, but Baz gives me that look and I know it means I have to go save Dev.

Because I choose him.

* * *

**DEV**

It’s rather chilly out here, but I suppose that’s what we get for having our wedding in January. (We hoped it would make people less likely to want to come, but there’s still a decent turnout.)

There’s a patio and garden behind the reception hall, but it’s closed off for the winter. That, of course, doesn’t stop us. We make our own rules now.

After Niall heroically whisked me away and saved me from my grandmother’s cousins, or whoever they were, we grabbed a bottle of wine that was left behind on a table, and two plates of cake, and snuck out to the back garden. There’s a small bench behind a shrub, and if we stay off the patio, no one can even see us out here.

The day has been a bit too much for me—too much fuss, too much talking, too much dancing and merriment—so it’s nice to feel like I can breathe.

“Promise me we’ll never host an event or be the centre of attention ever again,” I say, dropping my head onto Niall’s shoulder.

“God, yeah,” he says, and takes a bite of cake. “This cake isn’t even that good. Definitely not worth it.”

“Well, at least this’ll be the only wedding either of us have. I hope.”

“Not planning on making a run for it?” he asks jokingly. “Thought maybe you’d want to annul the marriage and go travel the world to find your soulmate, now that we’ve already gotten the gifts from everyone.”

“I mean, we’d probably have to return them in that case,” I say through a yawn as I nestle against him, and he tucks his arm around my waist, under my jacket. “Besides, I don’t need a soulmate.”

He squeezes my side. “No?”

“Nah, this is better.” I pull an ugly fondant flower off Niall’s cake and eat it, just because I know he thinks it’s disgusting. “Sleeping with my best friend. What more could I ask for?”

“Are you going to feel like you’re missing something, though?” he asks, taking on a more serious tone. I think he’s actually worried about this. “Are you going to look at people with their soulmates and wish you could have what they have?”

“Have what?”

“A soulmate bond. A connection.”

“Well, they don’t have what we have, either,” I say, lifting my head slightly to look up at him.

“And what do we have?” he asks as I steal another flower.

I headbutt into his shoulder. “ _History_.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know about my WIPs and other random, vaguely Carry On or fanfic-related things I like to talk about, you can find me on tumblr as [@f-ing-ruthless-baz](https://f-ing-ruthless-baz.tumblr.com)!


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